Who needs a freezer?

Published: Monday, January 11, 2010 at 1:00 a.m.

Last Modified: Friday, January 8, 2010 at 5:26 p.m.

A few days after global warming went on vacation, I called my mother to see how she was doing. She said the old east Tennessee farmhouse hasn't been so cold since January of '78, when the water pipes all froze and we had to take sponge baths till March.

That was our first winter on the farm. Dad had decided the previous summer that he would suffer suburban life no more. He traded our perfectly comfortable 5-year-old house in Johnson City for a dank and drafty 100-year-old house 10 miles out in the country.

When winter arrived, it became painfully apparent that we had moved from Suburbia to Siberia.

"The wind blew through that house like the walls weren't even there," Mom recalled as we reminisced over the phone.

Throughout the Midwest blizzards of "The Long Winter," The Ingalls family kept warmer in their "Little House on the Prairie" than we did in that old farmhouse during our long winter. Unlike us city slickers, the Ingalls knew what to expect and how to prepare.

Just before we moved in, Dad pulled up every stitch of carpet to reveal the handsome hardwood floors. It was a brilliant move that eliminated a lot of ugly orange rug fibers, and also the closest thing to insulation that house had ever seen.

A wood stove, two portable electric heaters and a dog were all we had for creating warmth. We gave up on the wood stove after noticing that even at full-burn, it could not begin to melt a little pile of snow that had blown through the window frame just three feet away.

Since the kitchen and bathroom were adjoined at the center of the house, we moved the living room sofa into the kitchen and heated only those two rooms. We slept in cold bedrooms under electric blankets.

My bedroom was also home to the washer, dryer and freezer. I joked that we might as well unplug the freezer, but it was no joke.

The room also had the most commonly used exterior door. One of my morning chores was to sweep out all the snow tracked in the day before.

The previous owners had never bothered to insulate the pipes either. Mom eventually crawled under the house and thawed the pipes herself.

She reminded me the other day of a letter Dad wrote to his mother describing how his wife had used a small torch and warm water to get our water flowing again.

"I told her that of course I knew how to do all that," Dad wrote, "but that I let her go through with it because I was training her for independence in case anything ever happened to me -- ha."

Well, 30 years later something finally happened to Dad. Mom is fully independent now, but with insulated floors and pipes. There's even central heat and air.

During this recent blast of bitter cold, however, my mother has reverted to 1978 defenses. She's only heating the kitchen, bathroom and den (my old bedroom) and she's sleeping under an electric blanket.

<p>A few days after global warming went on vacation, I called my mother to see how she was doing. She said the old east Tennessee farmhouse hasn't been so cold since January of '78, when the water pipes all froze and we had to take sponge baths till March.</p><p>That was our first winter on the farm. Dad had decided the previous summer that he would suffer suburban life no more. He traded our perfectly comfortable 5-year-old house in Johnson City for a dank and drafty 100-year-old house 10 miles out in the country.</p><p>When winter arrived, it became painfully apparent that we had moved from Suburbia to Siberia.</p><p>"The wind blew through that house like the walls weren't even there," Mom recalled as we reminisced over the phone.</p><p>Throughout the Midwest blizzards of "The Long Winter," The Ingalls family kept warmer in their "Little House on the Prairie" than we did in that old farmhouse during our long winter. Unlike us city slickers, the Ingalls knew what to expect and how to prepare.</p><p>Just before we moved in, Dad pulled up every stitch of carpet to reveal the handsome hardwood floors. It was a brilliant move that eliminated a lot of ugly orange rug fibers, and also the closest thing to insulation that house had ever seen.</p><p>A wood stove, two portable electric heaters and a dog were all we had for creating warmth. We gave up on the wood stove after noticing that even at full-burn, it could not begin to melt a little pile of snow that had blown through the window frame just three feet away.</p><p>Since the kitchen and bathroom were adjoined at the center of the house, we moved the living room sofa into the kitchen and heated only those two rooms. We slept in cold bedrooms under electric blankets.</p><p>My bedroom was also home to the washer, dryer and freezer. I joked that we might as well unplug the freezer, but it was no joke.</p><p>The room also had the most commonly used exterior door. One of my morning chores was to sweep out all the snow tracked in the day before.</p><p>The previous owners had never bothered to insulate the pipes either. Mom eventually crawled under the house and thawed the pipes herself.</p><p>She reminded me the other day of a letter Dad wrote to his mother describing how his wife had used a small torch and warm water to get our water flowing again.</p><p>"I told her that of course I knew how to do all that," Dad wrote, "but that I let her go through with it because I was training her for independence in case anything ever happened to me -- ha."</p><p>Well, 30 years later something finally happened to Dad. Mom is fully independent now, but with insulated floors and pipes. There's even central heat and air.</p><p>During this recent blast of bitter cold, however, my mother has reverted to 1978 defenses. She's only heating the kitchen, bathroom and den (my old bedroom) and she's sleeping under an electric blanket.</p><p>Country girls like her know what to expect and how to prepare.</p><p></p><p>Mark Rutledge writes for The Daily Reflector in Greenville, N.C.</p><p>E-mail: mrutledge@reflector.com</p>